


Jeff the Killer

by Peradion



Series: Creepypasta rewrites [1]
Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peradion/pseuds/Peradion
Summary: Basically, I just rewrote the origin of Jeff the Killer idk
Series: Creepypasta rewrites [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851538
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Jeff the Killer

**Author's Note:**

> ok so, just for reference: Jeff being a killer at 13 was too damn silly so I made him like, 16 and mentally ill 
> 
> also, him being burned w/ bleach or some shit didn't make sense to me so i just fuckin omitted it lmao 
> 
> enjoy <3 
> 
> i'm sorry if it's actual shit;;

I’m going to cut right to the chase, and say this: I’m not crazy. Whatever you’ve heard, whatever you’ve been told, I’m not what you think I am. 

Look—it shouldn’t have been the way it was. It shouldn’t have ended the way it did, but here we are. 

This is how it all began: New neighborhood. New home. Summertime, just a month before school was to begin—and I’d just turned sixteen. Things were fine. I stayed indoors, mostly; socializing had never been my strong point, not like Liu. Not to mention, there were already a number of nicknames for me established by the peers that lived in my neighborhood.

My brother was never the type to sit by, wasting away his life—he always had to be doing something. Dad was always staying late at work. Mom was balancing her life, her hobbies, her own instability. It was these little compartments of life in which we resided, doing our own thing—and sometimes, in the middle of it all, we could come together, take a breath, and say, “We’re gonna be okay.” Couldn’t complain about it, even if it sometimes was lonely. At least we were out of that disgusting tiny apartment.

There were times I was sure that we weren’t going to be okay. Something kept telling me we were doomed, even before everything went to shit. But it’s nice to believe otherwise, even if that’s an inherent mistruth. 

Mom decided not to let me rot away in my room, on the morning I met Randy Eisenhower. It was at her insistence that I exited my only sanctuary, and flung myself straight into the fire—with only Liu as my armor. 

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Jeff. They’re mostly nice kids, I promise,” 

“Nice like the kids back in Milwaukee, Liu?” my voice was rendered an unintentional snarl, and I pulled the strings of my hoodie in an attempt to hide my face during the walk to—whoever he was introducing me to. It did little to help. 

“Hey, I’m not gonna let you get picked on, alright? C’mon, don’t hide—it’s too hot for a hood,” his hands—always gentle, handling me as if I were some kind of glass doll, like I would fall apart at the slightest touch—tugged at my signature white hoodie. “Maybe you’ll even get a little bit of a tan if you take it off. You look like a ghost,”

“Not helping,” I playfully stuck my tongue out at him, and he let out a chuckle, light-hearted, in a way that made my heart squeeze with some level of unfamiliar emotion. Dread? Delight? Was I excited?

“Seriously, though. Aren’t you hot in that?” he asked, never faltering in his gentle disposition. I forced a small smile, ignoring the sweat beginning to accumulate on the back of my neck. Gentle Liu. Loving Liu. Perfect Liu. 

Why couldn’t I care the way he did? 

“I’ll be fine.” I asserted, and though he seemed uncertain, he gave my shoulder a soft pat. And we carried on—only to end up blindsided when, at our destination, there were three boys, towering in height, roaming the cul-de-sac on skateboards. Of course we didn’t think anything of it at first. Not until one of them skated toward us. Not until one of them crashed into me and sent me to the ground. 

“Oops!” His sarcastic voice cut through the air, and for a moment, it was as if I were stuck on the ground, struggling to rise again—though my heart was suddenly a war drum being violently beaten, and my hands burned from the contact with the hot ground. “Sorry! Guess I didn’t see ya!” He snickered at me—yes, it was at me—as I fumbled to collect myself again. I glared at Liu, as if to say “I told you so.” His peridot colored eyes were wide in shock.

“Hey.” That gentle smile had vanished just as quickly as it came to Liu’s face, and the squeezing of my heart vanished. “Hey!” he marched toward the other boy. I scrambled to my feet, and I grabbed his arm. Some part of me hoped that, maybe, I could at least try and de escalate. 

But the boy turned back to us anyway, in his preppy fucking striped Aeropostale shirt and his baggy blue jeans, ripped at the knees. 

“What?” he snapped, “I said I didn’t see you!” 

“Are you blind, then?” I couldn’t hold my tongue, it seemed. Liu wrapped an arm around my shoulder, as if he were my leash, keeping me tethered to earth. Looking back, I'm almost positive that he did it to ground himself, too. “Watch where you’re going!” 

“I’ll skate wherever I want,” His amber eyes flared, his face twisted into an even harsher glare. “Don’t you know who I am?” 

“I don’t think they know who you are,” One of his friends finally caught up, a cocky snicker exiting his own lips. “They’re new to the neighborhood,” 

Just like that, the courage disappeared. I took a step back. The friend who showed up could’ve been a linebacker—he was tall, large, looked as though he could snap a man or two in half with just his bare hands. Dumb as a pile of rocks, though. Nothing more than a glorified bodyguard. 

“I heard they were from somewhere in Ohio,” another kid skated up, twig-like, significantly shorter than the other two. “Then they moved to Milwaukee. Then to here,” 

I took in a sharp breath. How had they known?

“Who even are you?” Liu demanded, keeping an arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders. The mid-height boy took a step forward, icy blue eyes boring right through my soul. Or, our souls, rather. It was at that moment that I knew. I knew precisely what he’d been thinking. I shrunk back, doing whatever I could to avoid looking at him. There was something evil in those eyes. 

“Name’s Randy. Randy Eisenhower.” his voice was sickening—so self assured, as though he weren’t some nobody who bowed to the allure of money. My heart shuddered, squeezed, burned. “Big guy’s Troy. Skinny guy’s Keith.” He gestured to the hoodie. “What’s wrong? Not enough balls to take off the hood? It’s rude to hide your face.” 

“Aren’t you hot?” The faux concern in the fat guy’s voice churned my stomach. I brought a hand to my face, hoping I could at least hide my mouth more. The job was sadly only mostly done.

“C’mon, take the hoodie off.” The giddy giggle of the skinny little demon nearly took away my breath. I sank further into my hoodie, in hopes I could just vanish—but I was surrounded. And the arm left my shoulders. 

“Stay out of this,” I could vaguely hear Randy’s commanding voice—but it all sounded so far away. I was shoved about, taunted, told to take it off. And no matter the amount of protest I put in, no matter how hard Liu tried to break it up, we were no match. My hood was ripped off—some strands of my short, black hair went along with it—and my pale face was there for everyone to see. They stopped and stared. Then...they laughed. They laughed and laughed at me. And I could barely move. 

“Look at the Joker-reject!” Randy howled, nearly driven to tears as he took pleasure in the mirth that came with his teasing. 

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Troy shoved me again. The sun was warm on my skin. The birthmarks bracketing my mouth, forming a permanent smile, were exposed for all the world to see.

“Stop it,” my voice was barely a whisper, and my heart shuddered, burned, burned, burned, burned. But they kept laughing. Why were they laughing? “Stop it.” I raised my voice, but they wouldn’t listen. My fists trembled. “Stop laughing.  _ Stop laughing _ !” 

“Ugly fucker,” Randy spat, giving me a shove. “Show some respect!” 

I couldn’t help the impulse that whispered sweet things, the calling from my soul not to stand, but to act. And so I wound up and punched Randy square in the nose, as hard as I possibly could. It went downhill from there, as you can imagine—as he staggered back, clearly not prepared for me to launch my attack, Keith came at me. I managed to dodge as he leapt at me, strictly because I was fast, and I managed to get a single punch in before Troy plucked me from my place. He was tall, strong—and he threw me to the ground. The two began to kick me, and all I could do was curl up and try to shield myself. Liu, being good, being ever the pure one, the favored ‘normal’ child, finally stepped in. 

“Enough!” his own voice was commanding—and he yanked Keith away, in an attempt to at least get them to stop kicking. Weirdly, it worked. “W-we’re sorry, okay? Just leave Jeff alone!” 

Someone came out of their house, I think. The commotion must’ve been loud. Liu helped me up. Those sidekicks took to Randy’s side, and Liu and I took off somewhere else. 

And thus started the worst year of my entire life. 

Of course Mom was upset when she saw the damage. Of course she went on a rampage. Of course it ultimately didn’t matter. At the end of the day, it was less about me, and more about her incessant need to be in perpetual motion—to have some goddamn project she needed to do. Like launch a crusade against violence or some shit. It was a feud between her and Randy’s mom that ultimately set me—of course it was only me, as Liu hadn’t  _ really _ gotten involved in the fight—apart from everyone else. Mom was a psycho. She was the crazy one. 

Naturally, I spent the rest of the month locked away in my dreary little room. I didn’t dare set a foot outside, unless I had no choice. Otherwise? I vowed never to leave my sanctuary again. No point. The world was a horrible place. And no matter where I go, I was bound to find people who just wanted to hurt me. Unsurprising. 

Eventually, I lost that freedom to drown in peace. Dad called my therapist the day after the fight. Don’t know why he cares. All he cares about is his job. So, I had my first appointment after weeks of skipping. 

At least Dr. Shepherd gave a shit when I was there. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe I was just another paycheck to her. No—she was just a little old lady who liked to help people. Strangely, she was the one person I would’ve loved to see. 

“Good to see you again, Jeff. How have you been doing? It’s been so long since we’ve chatted,” her melodious voice was enough to soothe my soul, even just for a few minutes. I slumped in my seat. Shrugged. Couldn’t bring myself to look. 

Y’know the saying, “The eyes are the windows to the soul”? It’s true. You can’t hide anything, even if you wanted. Your eyes display all your intentions. That’s why people often look away when they lie: Their intent is visible even to inexperienced eyes. You can see those dark seeds of their soul grow. You can see the hellfire they carry inside. And it could bring the most real, raw terror to life. 

I didn’t want her to see.

“Have you been sleeping? You look tired,” her gentle voice interrupted my thought process. I frowned. “It’s okay if you haven’t. I know you’ve had a hard time.” 

“It’s been stressful,” I attempted to make sense of my own thoughts. But everything was blurred. Hopelessly blended in together, in some kind of homogenous mixture. “We moved,” 

It was a quiet, meaningless conversation. And she carried most of it. Still, it was nice. 

“I heard you got in a fight,” she made a point to be casual, I could tell. “Wanna tell me what that was about?” 

“Nah,” I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, so tight, if only to cease the squeezing, festering, rotting feeling in my heart. She looked uncertain. But she nodded. 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me yet,” she smoothly answered. “This is a safe space. You can tell me whenever you feel comfortable,” 

That was that. Reliable Dr. Shepherd let it go. It was just a dumb fight. She didn’t need to know. She sat in her little seat, taking notes, keeping a gentle disposition. Just like Liu. The only two people who had my back. It was a standard meeting; “How are the meds treating you?” She’d ask, “Your nightmares are going away, I hope,” she’d say. Never cruel. Never judgmental. Always a blessing. 

I left in high spirits. Strange for me to say, really—it wasn’t like I could say that often with all the shit at home. 

Look, I admit it: my life wasn’t so bad. I had a mom and dad. A brother. We had a place to stay and food on the table. We were educated. 

Mom was crazy though. Old bitch had been crazy her entire goddamn life. And she knew it. She knew it when she got with my dad. When she had Liu. When she had me. Don’t get me wrong—she wasn’t the worst thing to exist. She was different. Like me.

She just didn’t give enough of a rat’s ass to deal with it. 

Life went on. I attended therapy. School started about two weeks or so after the incident. And it only got worse. More people saw my face. More people mocked me for it.  I wasn’t really sleeping anymore. Really, I wasn’t  _ living _ anymore. I suppose I wasn’t living to begin with, but even so, the point stands. I wasn’t living, or sleeping, or really doing anything. Just playing games and reading books and avoiding the world outside my bedroom window. Not to mention, I started to regularly raid mom’s alcohol cabinet. Bring it to school. Hide it in water bottles. Carry on aimlessly. 

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

It was a question I’d been asked every day. Without fail. By the same people. 

“Off your meds again?” 

All the same shit. 

“Dude,”

Why are they looking at me like that? 

“They aren’t looking, Jeff,” 

They keep staring. Mocking. Never ending. And they laugh. Or are they just talking to each other? I can’t tell. _Why can’t I just fucking tell?_

The shrill shriek of the bell ripped through the halls. Oh. It was the end of the school day. Mid-October. When had it become October? Did I seriously just lose two whole months worth of my life?

Oh, well. Whatever. Nevermind any of that. It was just how things were. I packed my shit—or, rather, I just threw everything in my bag, not caring anymore. Everyone poured out of the doors in a desperate attempt to leave high school society behind. It was becoming more and more apparent by that point that I was just a dead man walking. Forgotten. Invisible. 

I walked the lonely road back home. I must’ve missed the bus. Every now and again, another kid would pass me. Maybe there was something wrong with me, maybe I was a plague, a festering thorn in their side. Maybe that’s why everyone seemed to avoid me. My counselor and therapist both tell me it’ll get better—but something told me that wasn’t the case. Student life was just shitty: I got poor grades, had few friends, really only had my brother for family, and on top of it all, I fought a daily war against myself. 

You know the feeling you get when you can feel another’s presence before you actually know there? It’s real. And it haunted me. For months. Right up until the end.  It’s heightened, in fact, when you have voices in your head. 

There was a wooded area I passed by each day to get to and from school. The feeling always heightened around there for some reason. 

_ “ _ **_Jeff._ ** _ ” _

I had to stop. I ceased all movement, frozen, at the whisper of the gentle baritone voice. It sounded almost like a deeper version of Liu's voice, but...no. Liu wasn’t with me. Maybe he was just on my mind. 

_ “ _ **_Be at peace, Jeff. Look at me._ ** _ ” _

The voice. It was almost like listening to a distorted video. I looked all about, with my skin suddenly crawling, my heart seizing, trying and failing to discern where the threat was. 

And that day was the first day I saw it. It was far away, but I was certain it was there. It had to be. 

It stood among the trees. Almost as tall as them. Dressed dapper in a suit. I stood and stared for a long time, I’d come to find. It stood in silence, no longer speaking to me. I moved to step forward, only to stop. My whole body trembled. 

Why couldn’t I see his face?

  
  
He didn’t move. Just watched. Why didn't he stop looking? What the fuck was his problem? _How did no one else notice?_

I was pulled out of this panic by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. As a knee-jerk reaction, in response, a shriek exited my lips, and I would have wildly fought against whoever had grabbed me, punched and kicked, bit, like a frightened feral animal. But I didn't. For a moment, I actually couldn't move. 

“Christ, Woods,” Randy’s voice. Randy? Was he really there? Or was it a hallucination again? I turned, eyes wide with terror. He seemed somewhat pleased, actually, to see he'd elicited that kind of response. “The fuck is up with you?” 

“Th-the...The thing. You don’t see it…?” 

“See  _ what? _ ” he glanced over at the treeline. I looked over, too, hoping they could see what I did, _feel_ what I did when that sound crawled into my head. When the static sound rang in my ears. But he was gone. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. “I don’t see shit.” 

“Th-there was something there—!” I attempted to defend myself, only to be popped in the mouth. I staggered some, nearly tumbled down the small incline that led further toward the woods. 

“What, are you off your meds?” Randy teased, eliciting chuckles from his two companions. He shoved me, as if attempting to send me down that incline. “Answer me, Smiles. C’mon,” He shoved me again, but for some reason, I just wouldn't go down. It felt strange at the time, but—I felt like something had prevented me from falling. Maybe Randy hadn't been pushing hard enough. Maybe I was resisting. Maybe the creature hadn't truly gone away. Maybe he just wasn't visible. 

_ “ _ **_What a shameful life you lead._ ** _ ”  _

“There was something there,” I managed, though my mouth ached and my teeth tightened some, as though they were loose again. 

“Nothing’s there, Woods,” Troy spoke up, locking onto me with a death glare. “You’re taking up the sidewalk. Move.” 

“Don’t be so hasty, Troy,” That squirrelly twig of a guy, Keith, had already managed to slither his way around me, deftly pick through my bag, and fish out my wallet. Obviously I responded by kicking him as hard as I could, if only so he’d drop it. Again, it didn’t quite go well for me.  Long story short, they kicked the crap out of me. Made off with my wallet. All my money. My student ID. Naturally, I had to walk home with galaxies of bruises, clusters of cuts, why? Because I was in the way. And they wanted my shit. I guess it didn’t matter in the end, anyway, given how it all transpired. 

But the white-faced man was there. It was all I could think about. Ass beating aside, Mom’s tirade aside, the white face was what had been burned into my mind’s eye. Always there in every corner. Always watching. His presence was somehow comforting, to say the least—yet he caused an intense dread, an agonizing terror in the pit of my soul. He filled my head with bad things. With terrible thoughts. 

“This is  _ unacceptable! _ ” I could hear my mother roar into her phone from all the way up the stairs in my bedroom on the second floor. “How  _ dare _ you insinuate—” There was an audible gasp. Clanging. The rapid tapping of her heels on the kitchen tiles. Then...the routine slamming of the front door. Great. And I know exactly what they’ll say next time I see them:  _ You need to have your mommy fight your fights, huh? _

Stupid. All of it was just stupid. And the pit of my soul burned with the desire to see them bloodied and battered. To hear them beg for mercy. To see the terror in their eyes as they were strung up, as they coughed and gasped for air, as their lungs filled with blood—

“Jeff?” 

Oh. I must’ve let my mind wander too much. Such is life, though. All it is is a harsh truth peppered with momentary hits of dopamine. All life really boils down to is paying taxes then dying. That’s all it is. 

_ “ _ **_No one really cares about you._ ** _ ”  _ the voice whispered.  _ “ _ **_No one really cares about anything._ ** _ ”  _ I could never bring myself to disagree. 

“Jeff, did Randy hurt you again?...”

Liu was there to soften the voices further. 

“What happened?”

He received no answer. No one received an answer. If anything, I receded further into my shell. Naturally, I was forced to go back to the therapist’s office. I wasn’t initially against it, strangely. Dr. Shepherd understood. She would know what to say. She would be sitting in her little chair, staring into my soul, trying to see whether I was evil or just deeply flawed—but she was easy to talk to. She must’ve missed me. 

…How wrong I was. How very wrong I had been. Upon arriving, I was greeted with the news that she’d retired—which translated to me as, _she’s sick of solving other people’s problems_. Her replacement? A younger guy called Dr. Scarver. All suave and debonair. Plagued with an almost palpable naivety. And he was grossly unprepared. 

“So...your meds. They aren’t working for you?” he inquired, raising a thin brow at me. His stare was uncomfortable, locked right on me, no mercy. Not like Dr. Shepherd.

“Uh...no. No, they haven’t,” I stared right back. 

“You know, you should smile more.” he gestured to the expression on my face. “I mean, you’ve got the birthmarks, but I bet you’d attract a lot of friends if you actually smiled.”

The whole meeting was totally just  _ what the fuck _ . Brash, blunt, hopping from one subject to another, Dr. Scarver paid no mind to me or my concerns. And all I could do was sit miserably, slumped in my seat, closed in, with those warbling voices echoing forever in my head. My only friends. The only people who care. 

“Yeah...that’s well and good but I’m mostly here to discuss the meds.” 

“Honestly, I dunno why you take medication,” he didn’t even bother to look up from his notebook. “You seem fine to me,” 

Fine. Fine, fine, fine...what about me told him I was fine? Was I fine? Am I fine? What am I?  I couldn’t help dissociating a bit as soon as he said that. Maybe there  _ was _ nothing wrong with me. Maybe it was the meds. Maybe this was all real. Maybe it was everyone else, not me.  Maybe I could burn the world to ashes. 

“Your last therapist told me you had issues with your classmates. Mind telling me a little more?”

“The issue is that they’re all assholes.” I asserted, naturally, and he looked particularly unimpressed with that. His face contorted. Brow quirked. A disinterested frown tugged at his lips. Those eyes, those  _ fucking eyes _ stared with such an intense distrust. Right then and there I knew—I  _ knew  _ he wasn’t going to believe me when I told him about the nightmares. About the pale-face. About the ass beatings. Why would he, anyway? Why would anyone? 

_ “ _ **_He’s a danger, Jeff._ ** _ ”  _ That voice again, soft in my ear. I swallowed thickly. 

  
  
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but high school is just full of assholes. It’s a fact of life.” He wrote it off in one fell swoop. 

_ “ _ **_He’s evil._ ** _ ”  _

“It is,” I lamely responded, but everything was so far away. “...Is it also a fact of life to get the shit beaten out of me every week?” 

To that, he was silent. I crossed my arms. Checkmate, bitch. 

“Still. You just need to endure it a little more.” he wrote something down. “...Do you even like taking all these medications? Clozapine, carbamazepine, risperidone...christ, don’t you get tired of it?” 

He did have kind of a point. 

“I—Uh, I dunno,” 

“You said it wasn’t helping, right? Maybe take a break. Give the meds a rest for a bit.” 

He wrote more stuff down. The therapy session ended. My prescription was not changed—in fact, it didn’t even get refilled, despite the fact that I’d been a few days away from being totally out. So I went home. 

The voices were so much stronger by the time I got in bed that night. 

_ “Don’t be afraid.”  _

_ “Hide, hide, hide, hide.” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “Your eyes are just scribbles—you don’t need them.” _

_ “You should smile more." _

_ “Just go to sleep. Sleep it all away.” _

I didn’t sleep at all. The voices kept me awake. And maybe I’d been a tad bit manic—schizoaffective disorder will do that to you—to accompany that, but the point still stands. I stayed up all night, fucking around on my computer, researching. Researching what? I don’t quite remember. 

The next few days were somehow better. I pretended to take what was left of my medicine. Maybe Dr. Scarver was right. Maybe I was fine. Maybe I didn’t need the medication. I was perfect. I had to be. So I spit the medication out whenever I was alone. And no one caught on.  But then, it just got worse. Then better. I was Icarus—I was flying high. Then it was a free fall. 

The voices kept getting worse. Worse, worse, worse, worse—I never even really figured out the right words for it. Sinister? Frightening? Foreboding? Certainly, it made it harder to focus. Conversations were more or less a thing of the past. And always, always, always did they leave me in pieces. 

I went to mom. She was too drugged up to give a shit. I went to dad. He was too busy. Liu didn’t need to know—though I would’ve loved to tell him. He didn’t deserve to see the evil in his younger brother. Unless maybe he already had. Maybe he already knew? No, maybe not. He wasn't the tall man. He wasn't the one in my head. 

No allies I could rely on, in the end. No friends. No control. 

_ “Everyone’s going to hurt you.” _

_ “Coward.” _

_ “Traitor.” _

_ “Just go to sleep and don’t wake up.”  _

Never ending, never relenting, taunting, teasing, echoing forever. I began to self harm. I knew in my heart that mom was noticing—finally—and that dad could see my mania and depression as it came. It’s not like it mattered, though—it took them forever to see the truth. To see the real me. The me that hated so much, that relished in pain and bloodshed and violence, the me that was so irredeemably sick. The nonredeemable part of me that yearned to be free. 

I drank every day. Got in fights. Refused to go to therapy. I don’t know why—but I started to collect roadkill as a hobby. It was such a euphoric feeling, seeing them rest peaceful. So I kept them safe. I kept the bones. I dissolved and burned away their flesh. Dead things were beautiful, loving, understanding, the only things in life that seemed to just  _ get it _ . They were dead—but they seemed to understand life better than any living person. I dearly loved the soft curves of their skulls. Maybe they were extensions of me. Maybe they just were the broken pieces of me, and I was just now gathering them up again. 

“I’m worried about you, Jeff,” Dad said to me one day at dinner. I ended the conversation by remaining silent. 

“You always seem so mopey,” Mom greeted me with this after a hard day at school—but I just handed her the mail and went to my room. “Why can’t you tell us anything?” her voice trailed after me. But I continued on to my skeletons—my poetry. My purpose in life.

“Jeff, you can’t keep doing this.” The look on Liu’s face gave me pause, as I passed him in the hallway to get back to my bedroom after witnessing one of mom's 'episodes.' “Are you sure you’re okay?”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d never be okay. 

The pale-face appeared more often. Ominous.  He stayed in my closet. I don’t know why. And it was only at night that I saw him, by this point. It was at night that I was sickened, always vomiting, always needing to break things. Forgetting. Always forgetting. That's how I knew he was there. 

He didn’t even have a face. He didn’t have eyes or a mouth, or a nose. I’m not sure what would’ve been more scary—him having no face at all, or just a little bit of a face. Nevertheless, here he was. In my closet. Whispering gentle, frightening things to me. 

_ “ _ **_You’re in danger, Jeff.”_ **

_ Who are you? _ I attempted to ask, but the words died away on my tongue. 

_ “ _ **_My name doesn’t matter._ ** _ ” _ The voice was flat, monotonous. I didn’t dare look away. Each time I blinked, he was just a little closer. There was the sound of static. I hissed at the feeling of it in my head, the intense tingling, and for a moment, it was like my entire body was static.

_ Why are you here? _ I tried to ask—but I don’t remember if I truly asked. I was too out of my mind. Manic, Machiavellian, mad.  _ Maybe it wasn’t just me, _ I thought.  _ Maybe everyone was mad. Maybe everyone was out of their mind. _ The black slug that was my own madness left behind a vacant hole where my heart should’ve been. It burned. My chest, my soul, it  _ burned _ as if someone had set me ablaze.

_ “... _ **_You were unique._ ** _ ”  _ The cryptic words were suddenly so clear. As if the distorted voice had finally cleared. And suddenly, the rest of the voices were quiet. 

On impulse, I got up. He didn’t stop me. I made a beeline for my mother’s bedroom. She would understand, surely. She and I were the same. She knew these monsters to be real. She had to know.  _ Please tell me she knew. _

I crept into the room. Dad must’ve still been at work. I don’t know where Liu was—but I made sure to be quiet when I passed by his bedroom door. 

_ “ _ **_Don’t look at her, she’s evil.”_ **

I shooed away the voice. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t have been. Unless he was? Was he really there?

“Mom?” My voice was rendered into a whisper. “Mom, wake up,” 

She made a sound in response, shifted a tiny bit. I didn't touch her. 

_ “ _ **_Jeff,_ ** _ ”  _

“What?” her slurred voice was laced with irritation, almost a growl. The voices came back. 

_ “Just go to sleep, Jeff.” _

“Mom, there’s someone in my room,”

I could feel a hand on my shoulder. I tensed, doing the best I could to swallow my pride, to swallow the last bits of fear I felt. 

“Mom, please,” 

_ “ _ **_Quiet now, Jeff._ ** _ ” _

Those voices again. All of them at once. 

_ “ _ **_Don’t speak.”_ **

“Just go to bed, Jeff,” her voice was so drowsy. I paused. Unable to breathe. The creature in my head wouldn’t stop. His blank face forever lingered in my mind’s eye. He had to be there with us. I felt his fucking hand.  _ I felt his fucking hand, goddamn it, he was real. _

_ “ _ **_Do it, Jeff. Do it and be free._ ** ”

“Mom,” I tried again, almost silent, almost in tears reaching out in the dark for her comfort. Maybe if I found her touch, the dark things would go away. The faceless entity would fade into the shadows, never to be seen again—tentacles and all. Maybe the headaches would stop. Maybe his hand would be gone. 

_ “You’re worthless, Jeff.” _

_ “Everyone’s out to get you.” _

_ “Go to sleep.” _

_ “Go to sleep.” _

_ “Go to sleep!” _

_ “ _ **_Go to sleep!_ ** _ ” _

“Go to sleep, Jeff.” Her voice, much more firm, seemed so much further away. She swatted away my hand.

It burned. It burned so much in my chest. And I recall I was shaking—I was shaking  _ so much _ I almost couldn’t stand. I don’t know when or where I got the knife—at some point I just had it, I guess. There were a bunch of periods in which I blacked out, but the voice always remained the same. Deep, soft, like a whisper over my shoulder. 

_ “ _ **_It’s her fault._ ** ”

I crept into her room again, and stared at her drugged up, strung out body passed out in her bed.

_ “ _ **_She made you this way._ ** ”

I couldn’t stop myself. 

_ “ _ **_She has to pay._ ** _ ” _

“What are you doing  _ now _ ?” The mumble was low. I still remember it, clear as day. My chest ached, burned, festered. No touch. No sleep. No, no, no…

_ “ _ **_She always hated you, Jeff._ ** _ ” _

She watched me. Always judging. Her eyes wandered over me, wild with a sense of alarm, periwinkle eyes glimmering in the dim moonlight. 

“Jeff,” her voice was so sweet. So calm. Fake. Like she always had been. “Jeff, what—”

_ “ _ **_She’s going to hurt you._ ** _ ” _

“Jeff—sweetie,” She kept trying. Attempted to get up from the bed. “Jeff, put the knife down—” 

**_“Go to sleep.”_ **

“Go to sleep!” It was like I was outside of my own body, watching as I sprang to action. I could feel my mouth move, the tearing of my throat as the scream ripped through my vocal cords. “Go the fuck to sleep, Jeff! Go to sleep, go to sleep!” 

There were some moments I didn’t remember. I kept bouncing back and forth between tears and manic laughter, and by the time I came to again, I’d stabbed her so many times that my arms ached and the blade was wobbling, threatening to give way. It was a bloody mess—and she almost didn’t look human anymore. Just a blob of flesh and blood. 

_ “Smile, smile, smile, _ ” the fucking voices whispered, over and over again that fucking word. 

“You should smile more, Jeff,” I repeated the words she so often said to me in passing, “Why don’t you fucking smile, Margaret?” Of course I had to make her smile. I took to her face with my blade, carved it right into her flesh. 

I climbed off of her as soon as I heard the front door open. Footsteps in the kitchen. Work must’ve finally let him go.

_ “ _ **_You know what you must do._ ** _ ” _

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” was the first thing Dad had asked, before he looked at me. Then he saw all the blood. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

_ “ _ **_Like he cares._ ** _ ” _

Another one down. I stabbed him enough in my blackout that my knife had broken—but instead of stopping, as if on autopilot, I grabbed another from the kitchen. I left him there, on the nice tile floor. When I turned, gripped by the euphoria that came with freedom, I came crashing down again. Liu. Standing right there. 

_ “ _ **_Everyone’s out to get you._ ** _ ” _

“Jeff?” Liu’s horrified face suddenly seemed so much older. His sun kissed skin was pale. For a moment, there was clarity. 

_ “ _ **_Don’t let him bewitch you._ ** _ ” _

“Jeff—Jeff, what have you done?” he came closer—but I brandished my knife in his direction, stepping back. 

“Stay back,” I snarled, clinging as much as I could to this temporary clarity. Vacant chest. Crashing and burning. Entire body tingling. 

_ “ _ **_You can’t let him get away. He’ll tell. He’ll kill you._ ** _ ”  _

“Jeff, w-whatever you’re thinking—”    
  
Perfect Liu. Favored Liu. The loved child. 

_ “ _ **_Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep._ ** _ ” _

“Jeff, please,” he tried again. My poor brother. My hand trembled. The hatred in my heart didn’t subside. The fear never left. I could feel the tears kindling in my eyes, rolling down my cheeks—but I was too far gone. 

He tried to stop me. Pulled me into a soft embrace. I let him—for a moment. If only to hold onto the last shred of love anyone would ever have for me. 

_ “ _ **_Don’t fall for it._ ** _ ” _

“Why did you do it, Jeff?” he asked, voice broken in pieces, shaky, like he was barely able to breathe through the sorrow wracking his body. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

“Shh, quiet now,” I whispered, adjusting my grip on the knife handle. I couldn’t stop shaking. My chest threatened to explode. I couldn’t find my footing anymore. “...Get some rest, Liu.”

The blood poured from his slit throat. A smile touched my chapped lips. 

_ “ _ **_Everyone’s dangerous._ ** _ ” _

The tall man was pleased. I could feel it. I burst into laughter, giddy, gripped by the euphoria that freedom had to offer. No more feeling. No more regret. I grabbed the fireplace fuel, and the matches my mother had kept on the mantle. 

_ “ _ **_You could save them._ ** ”

The house went up in flames. The blaze reached for the night sky, licked at the bodies I left behind. But I was long gone, before it could ever get me. I stole away into the night. Into the arms of the faceless man. 

_ “ _ **_But why would you want to?_ ** _ ” _

I’m not crazy. 

This was my calling.


End file.
